Home
by MissMelysse
Summary: Geordi LaForgeOFC. Written for the LJ Fanfic100: Insomnia inspires a conversation about home.


**Fandom:** Star Trek The Next Generation  
**Characters: **Geordi LaForge / OFC  
**Prompt:** #090 - Home  
**Word Count:** 692  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary: **Insomina prompts a conversation.  
**Notes:** Written for the Livejournal FanFic 100. _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This is the first in a series that will eventually number 100, written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. May continue to be Geordi/OFC (Kat) - may not. These are un-beta'd.

**HOME**

I wake to a dark room, and a bed missing an occupant, and for a long moment I'm unsure what to do. Do I give him space, or find him and talk? I sit up, and realize the dog is also absent. Better go find her before any shoes go missing.

Pulling a t-shirt over my head – not sure if it's his or mine – probably his as the hem skims my thighs and the sleeves reach my elbow, I pad barefoot to the living room, which is also shrouded in darkness. Peering into the shadows, I see the faint pulses of light at his temples, the feed for the VISOR he's not wearing.

Moving closer, I see he's seated on the couch, legs in a sort of lotus pattern, the dog leaning against him. Can't tell if he's petting the creature or not. Softly, I call his name, "Geordi…?"

The led's on his temples trace the path of his turning head. "You should be sleeping, Kat."

"So should you," I point out. "What's wrong?"

"It's too quiet."

I pause in the middle of the living room floor, halting my slow approach. "Excuse me?"

"The house. Your house."

"I rather thought you might come to think of it as _our_ house," I murmur, aside.

"I guess I'm just used to space. To the ship."

I continue walking. One step, two, three, and I'm close enough to reach out for him, which I do. He can't see me, but he seems to know I'm there. Probably a change in temperature, or the draft in the house has changed, or…something. "You miss the engine noise." It's not a question. I run my fingers through his short, soft hair, and then trail them down to caress his face, feeling the merest hint of stubble along his jaw.

He shifts his position forming a lap, tugs me down to sit with him. "Yes." He says. He buries his face in the nape of my neck, whispers, "You smell so good," then continues on his original tack: "Most people don't even hear the engine. Captain Picard can. I can. That ship…it's not just where I work, Kat. It's not even just the closest thing I've had to a home since…well, since ever, almost…it's that the _Enterprise_ is a part of me."

"Would you…" I hesitate. "Would you show her to me?" I ask after a minute, after he squeezes me in a silent prompting. "Help me see her the way you do?"

His arms go tight around my middle for a second, then release. "You hate space, Kat."

"That's not precisely true," I say.

"But you always refused to visit before."

"Because I was angry at Starfleet, and at space itself, for taking you away from me. I'm selfish. I wanted you where I could reach you." I say it with a bit of humor, but only a bit. Enough to soften the emotions. "I missed my best friend, and I took it out on the cosmos."

He laughed, and I frowned, but then I realized it really was funny. "Only you, Kat, could pick all of SPACE as an enemy."

"I'm talented that way," I declare. For a moment, all is light and air, and then I grow sober again. "I mean it though, Geordi. For this to work. For _us _ to work, as lovers, I mean, not just friends…I need to be able to share your world, and you need to be able to share mine."

"Alright," he agrees. "I'll cut my leave a day or two short, and take you to the ship."

"You do realize you're going to have to explain everything in words of one syllable," I remind, teasingly.

"You do realize that this is a personal visit, and not license for a 'behind the scenes on the flagship' magazine article," he shoots back, mimicking my tone.

"Totally off the record," I agree, and mean it. I open my mouth to say more, but a yawn comes out instead, and we both chuckle softly. "Come back to bed?" I invite.

And he does.

But the dog chooses to remain on the couch. Smart dog.


End file.
